


Fill Up the Empty Skies

by Hagar



Series: There would be mercy in the world [1]
Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angor Rot’s Soul Isn’t Destroyed, Episode: s01e22 It’s About Time, Episode: s02e04 KanjigAAARRRGGHH!!!, Episode: s02e05 Homecoming, Everyone lives, Gen, POV Multiple, Season Series 02, Season/Series 01, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 16:46:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15999308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hagar/pseuds/Hagar
Summary: Angor Rot’s soul isn’t destroyed. Things happen differently.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Love and Gratitude:** to antongarou and ernads, who kept me going; and to veretianblue, who beta'ed. (All remaining mistakes are, of course, the author's.)

_00:02:00_

The cell phone’s screen shone a bright, cool blue in the dark tunnel. Jim sighed. It was taking him entirely too long to find his way through the sewers. He had to keep making stops so he could put the ring back on and figure out his and Angor Rot’s relative locations. It _would_ have been quicker to keep the ring on his finger, but Jim couldn’t bring himself to do that; having the ring on gave him a sick feeling, as if something cold and slimy was slithering down his spine and curling up in his belly. He didn’t know how Strickler had been able to have the ring on all these weeks.

That was an idle thought, which Jim had no time for; the clock was ticking. He put his cell phone back in his pocket and revved the engine back up. He was close to Angor Rot now, very close. Just a final stretch of tunnel and then - _there._ Jim stopped the Vespa and took his helmet off. There, perhaps ten or fifteen feet away, was Angor Rot, sitting on top of a pile of stones as if it were a throne and studying the Kill Stone.

_Angor Rot._ The mere sight of him made Jim want to turn around and run away; he’d come a long way since his early days as a Trollhunter, but Jim had no illusions - here, he was completely outclassed. Angor Rot could’ve killed him on at least two separate occasions. He was only alive because the old troll had use for him.

Jim pushed the fear away - or tried to, at any rate. He cleared his throat, then forced himself to step forward. “Okay,” he muttered to himself as he climbed up the pile of stones. Carefully, he waved his hand in front of Angor’s eyes - even frozen in time, they shone with an intelligence that made it difficult to believe that Angor was truly unaware of Jim’s presence.

Angor Rot’s eyes didn’t even flicker.

Jim reached for the Kill Stone and found it stuck: Angor Rot’s fingers were closed around it like a vise. Jim climbed up, bracing his feet against the solid rock of Angor’s left leg in an attempt to get as much leverage as he could. “Come on!” he said to himself, unable to contain his frustration. He pulled and pulled again until, finally, the Kill Stone came loose. Jim jumped back down onto actual rock and made his way back to his Vespa, the Kill Stone safe in his pocket. He turned the key in the ignition but stopped before the engine properly turned back on: there before his eyes, a drop of water was falling down from the top of the tunnel. It splashed against the metal, the soft noise echoing impossibly loud. It took Jim a few seconds to notice the incessant beeping, realize what it was, and pull his phone out to silence it.

_00:00:00_

Forty-three minutes and nine seconds after Claire had nearly been run over by a truck, Jim was finally out of time.

Freezing in place was a mistake, and one Jim couldn’t afford: Angor Rot was now standing in front of him, blocking his way out. He had to think of something, and he had to do so quickly. Blindly, he reached for the ring in his pocket. He almost put it on: using it as a weapon seemed the way to go, given the raging troll right in front of him.

Jim threw the ring to the side and hit the gas as hard as he could. His bet paid off. Angor Rot dove after the ring, clearing Jim’s escape path. He didn’t let go of the gas: he needed all the speed he could get. The ring was small and the tunnel was dark, but he didn’t think it would take Angor Rot much time to find it - and then what would happen? Would Angor Rot decide that the deal he had with Jim - which, perhaps, he had never intended to honour - did not cover the Kill Stone? No, Jim needed to put as much distance between the troll and himself as he could, before Angor came after him.

A scream echoed through the tunnel. It was difficult to tell through the distortion of the echo and the roar of the engine, but it seemed to Jim that Angor Rot had yelled--

“No!”

 

* * *

 

“And he never came after you,” Toby said. The six of them - Toby, Claire, Jim, Blinky, AAARRRGGHH!!! and Draal - were sitting in Blinky’s library; reconvening there was such an ingrained habit that the three humans didn’t even need to call each other and coordinate that after the keirosect wore off.

“Nope,” Jim replied.

“What do you think happened?” Claire asked.

“I have no idea.”

“It seems that repossessing the ring did not go as Angor expected that it would, but other than that…” Blinky let the sentence trail off and turned two of his palms upwards.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad it worked,” Toby said, “but now we better hope he doesn’t come back for this.” Toby nudged the Kill Stone where it rested on the table. “I can’t believe you actually threw the ring away, Jimbo. Didn’t we agree you’d control him instead?”

“You _what?_ ” Blinky asked sharply.

“Toby and I thought that as we don’t know that Angor won’t kill Jim anyway, it might be a better idea if Jim put the ring on after stealing it from Strickler,” Claire said.

“Sounds like a good idea,” Draal said.

“No,” AAARRRGGHH!!! said firmly.

“Why not, wingman?” Toby asked.

“While I agree that Angor Rot cannot be trusted, I am shocked and dismayed that you thought it better for Jim to possess his _soul_ ,” Blinky said. His voice was still sharp. “Just because Angor Rot chose to participate in whatever dark magic that he had does not mean another person can become complicit to that without repercussions.”

“I did put the ring on to find him,” Jim said into the silence that followed, “but to be honest, it just felt awful. I didn’t want to feel like that all the time.”

Blinky’s entire demeanor softened. “You made the right choice, Master Jim,” he said.

“Did I?” Jim asked.

“I believe humans have a word for the manner in which Angor may be controlled through the Inferna Copula; that word is _enslaved_. It is my understanding that to be the owner of a slave is not well looked upon.”

Claire looked stricken; Toby looked horrified.

“We really should’ve thought of that,” Claire said.

Toby, though, had already put his horror aside and merely looked stubborn. “Well, I still say, if it was the only way to save Jim’s life…”

Draal pointed at the Kill Stone.

“No,” Jim said, “AAARRRGGHH!!! and Blinky have a point. Just because Angor chose to do that to himself doesn’t make it right.”

“He might have not done _precisely_ that, Master Jim,” Blinky said. “Some sources say that he was cheated on in whatever deal he thought he was making. Indeed, prior to that deal, he was known as a great warrior against Gunmar and his Gum-Gum army.”

“Okay, now that’s just depressing,” Toby said.

“That said,” Blinky continued, “Draal and Toby do have a point. Now that he is free, Angor Rot is completely unpredictable. He’s as likely to disappear as he is to be on the warpath. There is no telling when, where or how he will strike.”

“All the more reason to find the third and last stone,” Claire said.

“What was that legend again?” Jim asked.

“Three forces elemental you must seek, in marshlands, caverns deep and mountains peak,” Claire recited. When everyone looked at her in surprise, she added: “If I can memorize 400 lines of Shakespeare, I can remember that.”

“Check and check on marshlands and mountain,” Toby said. “That just leaves us the ‘caverns deep’.”

“Trouble is, Tobias, all trolls live in ‘caverns deep’,” Blinky said. “To search them all would far outlast our lifespans.”

The sound of a horn rolled into the room, low and loud enough that it made objects rattle. In its wake silence descended, as all lights outside the library seemed to shut off.

“What _was_ that?” Claire wondered out loud.

“Let us go and find out,” Blinky said.

 

* * *

 

He could no longer find Strickler just by opening himself up to the channel that connected him to his soul, and therefore to the ring. Nevertheless, it did not take Angor Rot long to locate the changeling. The sun was only partially below the horizon, but that did not matter: Strickler was engaged in some human ritual - _dental hygiene_ , Angor believed it was called. By the time Strickler had left the building and headed for his car the sun was well below the horizon; the streets were perfectly safe for a troll, and had been for a while.

Angor stood in the shadows, and waited.

Strickler walked to his car, then stopped: the inflated _things_ that held the car above the ground and allowed it to move were cut, thus releasing the trapped air and effectively grounding the vehicle. From the set of the changeling’s shoulders it seemed to Angor that he understood this was no random attack, but rather an offensive move.

Angor stepped forward, deliberately letting his foot fall heavily and loudly.

Strickler turned.

It was what Angor wanted; he wanted to see the changeling’s face when--

Strickler lifted his right hand - no doubt to hit Angor as he’d done before - and, finally, registered that the ring was missing from his finger.

Angor raised his hand, showing off the ring on his finger. Then he grabbed Strickler’s arm and turned him around forcefully, slamming his front against the car and twisting his arm behind his back. It was difficult to not hurt the tender human flesh, to disable without maiming: to not dislocate the shoulder out of its socket or break thin bone in his grip. Angor would have his chance to hurt the changeling later; for now, things would be simpler if he didn’t.

“What do you want?” Strickler’s voice quivered.

“What I _want_ is to kill you,” Angor replied, “and I am going to _savour_ that. But at the moment, there is a promise I intend to keep. Now, you are going to come along quietly, or do I need to remind you why you want to cooperate?”

“I will not--”

Angor bent down so that he could put both their faces close together. “You have a hostage.”

“And you care about a human?” Strickler worked hard to put disdain and scepticism in his voice, Angor would give him that. But Angor also knew the truth.

“No, but you do,” he said. “I’ve been watching you, Strickler, so don’t try to lie. You wouldn’t crush her arm, so don’t,” Angor shook Strickler’s fragile human body, “give me a reason to crush yours.”

One, two, three seconds passed. Then Strickler relaxed his body in Angor’s grip.

Angor lifted him up, stuck him under his arm, and started walking.

 

* * *

 

It was three in the morning when Jim finally made it home. The house was dark as he drove up the garage path and parked the Vespa. He wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not. On the upside, he could go straight to bed without having a yelling match with his mom first; on the downside, the yelling match would no doubt be waiting for him in the morning.

As quietly as he could, Jim unlocked the front door and stepped inside. He had only just managed to silently close and lock the door again, when a voice that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up called from the living room: “Over here, Hunter.”

Angor Rot’s voice.

The armor coalesced around Jim’s body without him needing to say a word, Daylight materializing in his hand. Jim commanded the sword away before he stepped over to the living room; the sword would do him no good against the troll assassin, whom Jim had no intention of arming.

In the living room he found Angor Rot and, predictably, his mother, who - perhaps also predictably - was tied to a chair and gagged. Unpredictably, though, Strickler was also there, similarly bound. Or not so unpredictably: perhaps Angor was a troll of his word after all.

After a brief moment’s hesitation, Jim let the armor fade away.

“Wise choice,” Angor said.

“I swear, if my mother got so much as a scratch--”

“You’ll do what?” Angor replied. “Don’t be foolish. I could always leave, and let you fix this without my help.”

“I got you the ring,” Jim fired back without thinking.

“And stole the Kill Stone,” Angor replied.

“That was never part of our deal, one way or the other.”

“True,” Angor acknowledged. “Which is why I’m here now. But do _not_ test my patience, Hunter.”

“Fine,” Jim replied. He was proud of the amount of steel he managed to put in his voice. “I’m going to untie her now.”

Angor gestured with his hand, as if saying: _by all means._

Jim stepped over to his mom and removed the gag first.

“Jim, what’s the meaning of this?” his mom demanded as he struggled with the rope. “What’s going on?”

Jim sighed. “That’s going to be a little complicated to explain. But the short version is that Strickler did something to you. Angor over there is going to help me undo it, and then he’s going to _go away._ And _then_ I can explain things to you properly.”

“What do you mean, Walter did something to me?”

“Shall I demonstrate?” Angor asked.

“Don’t you dare,” Jim spat out.

Angor, though, pulled out a knife.

“If that thing has Creeper’s Sun on it--” Jim began.

“I am not going to give Strickler so quick a death,” Angor said, his voice laden with a different kind of poison.

Jim turned to his mom. “Mom, I’m really sorry, okay?”

“What are you sorry fo--” she began to ask, then yelped: “Aw!”

Angor had cut a thin, shallow line across Strickler’s forearm. The same bleeding cut appeared on Jim’s mom’s forearm.

“And _that’s_ what Strickler did to you,” Jim said. His voice was so full of anger it almost shook. “He bound your lifeforce with his to keep me from killing him.”

“But why…?” she began to ask then trailed off, perhaps unsure which question to even ask. Just then Jim was done with the rope, so she bent forward to massage life back into her ankles. Wisely, she didn’t try to stand just yet. “Jim--”

He looked away. “I’ll go get the first aid kit.”

“It’s barely skin deep,” Angor said.

“Well, it’s still bleeding,” Jim shot back. “I’ll be just a minute.”

“Don’t tempt my patience!” Angor called after him.

Jim ignored him and fetched the first-aid kit from the kitchen. His mom tore open an alcohol swab and swiped it across the cut, grimacing at the sting. Angor hadn’t lied, though: the cut was so shallow that it didn’t need further treatment.

Jim’s mom considered Strickler, her lips pursed. Then she tore open another alcohol swab and disinfected the cut on his arm, too. She hadn’t looked at his face at all, and she stepped back to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Jim as soon as she was finished.

“How do we undo this?” she asked. Her voice quivered, but only a little.

Jim looked at Angor.

“I will need to place a hand on both you and Strickler and speak an incantation,” he told Jim’s mom. “Sit; this will take time.”

Jim kicked the ropes away from the chair. His mom sat down, and said, “When this is over, you and I are due a talk, kiddo.”

He squeezed her hand, and replied: “I know, Mom.”

Pointedly, Angor said: “I will be leaving here before sunrise, whether or not the ritual is complete.”

Jim’s mom took a deep breath and nodded.

Jim nodded back at her, then turned to Angor. “Then let’s do this.”

Angor meant it when he said it would take time. The incantation was brief but he repeated it over and over, and each time a pulse of magic passed between Strickler and Jim’s mom. Jim lost count around the hundredth repeat; by the time Angor removed his hands from the two, there was only a half hour left until sunrise.

To his surprise, Jim found that he actually cared for Angor to find shelter before dawn. It was but a fleeting moment, though; Jim had another concern, which he cared for much more. “Why are they unconscious?” Jim demanded.

“Living bodies take better to the forging of a connection than to its severance,” Angor replied. “She’ll wake up in a few hours.”

“She,” Jim repeated. “And he?”

“Do you care, Hunter?” Angor snapped.

Jim looked away, and didn’t reply.

Angor shoved Strickler to the floor. He made an indistinct noise as he woke up. Then he turned his head, saw the troll towering over him, and tried to scramble away in obvious panic.

Angor put a foot down on his chest. “Run,” he ordered, then removed his foot.

Strickler did not hesitate, or look back for even a second: he got to his feet and, indeed, ran out, not even bothering to shut the door behind him.

“I will savour this hunt,” Angor said, as if to himself. Then he looked at Jim. “A word of advice, Hunter: you need not have that conversation with your mother.”

“You don’t know her.”

“I know that she will remember none of this. Put her where she usually sleeps, and spare yourself the trouble.” He grinned, a most menacing expression on his skull-like face. “I will leave you to it.”

“Thanks,” Jim told the door as it closed behind Angor’s face. “Won’t be missing you.” Then he sighed, and got to the task of putting his mom on the couch and the living room in order. Mercifully, Angor had made little mess; it was oddly considerate.

Only after Jim was done did he realize: he’d never asked Angor what had gone so wrong, to make him scream, “No!” Then again, Jim was pretty sure what Angor would’ve said had Jim asked him that.

_Do you care, Hunter?_

 

* * *

 

The next day went by in a daze; Jim hadn’t slept at all that night. Worse, he’d spent the better part of the night playing PyroBligst. It was a wonder he hadn’t fallen asleep in his chair, or driven the Vespa into a speeding truck on his way home. He did, however, go straight home instead of spending the afternoon in Trollmarket. Dinner wasn’t going to cook itself, and Jim needed to get at least a catnap in first if he were to not burn the kitchen down or accidentally cut his finger off.

Dusk found Jim taking out the trash and going on 36 hours of wakefulness punctuated by, indeed, only a catnap. He was cranky and exhausted, enough so that he could _feel_ the amulet pushing at the back of his mind and offering the boost that always came with transforming into his armor in response to Jim’s stress. That made it nothing short of a miracle that Jim hadn’t startled and transformed into his armor when Strickler stepped out of the bushes and fell down to his knees in front of Jim.

“Please, Trollhunter!” he begged. “Please help me!”

“Why would I do that?” Jim asked. He didn’t even try to hold his incredulity in. “You tried to kill me, stole my amulet, _used my mother_ \- and those are just the highlights. Are you seriously asking me to help you against the troll assassin that _you_ brought here?”

Strickler spread his hands in a gesture he must’ve believed was placating. “I admit it sounds bad when you put it this way, but I can help you.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” Jim told him firmly, and turned around.

He didn’t get more than three paces away before Strickler called out: “I can give you the Eye!”

Jim stopped in place. Strickler couldn’t possibly mean… “What eye?” he demanded, as if he hadn’t already guessed.

“The Eye of Gunmar,” Strickler confirmed. “The Janus Order had held it in confidence for the past several centuries. I… _liberated_ it when it seemed my status in the Order could be waning.”

The Order of what now? Jim would have to ask Blinky about that later. _After_ he got Eye, preferably, or got away in the likely case that the man was lying. “See, this is why nobody trusts you,” Jim remarked out loud - but he did turn around: just because Strickler was almost certainly lying didn’t mean that Jim could afford to walk away from the slim chance that he _wasn’t_.

Strickler smiled weakly. “Because I offer excellent deals?”

“Because you’re a two-faced liar who’ll do anything to save his own skin,” Jim told him.

“I was trying to protect my _people_ ,” Strickler snapped back in something like his usual spirit.

Jim spread his hands to the sides. “And where are your people now?” he asked.

“Do you want the last triumbric stone, or not?”

“Not if you want me to go up against Angor Rot for you,” Jim said frankly.

“Of course not, he’d tear through you like tissue paper,” Strickler responded promptly.

“Then what _do_ you expect me to do?” Jim demanded.

Strickler must have thought about that in advance, because he lost no time in replying: “Get me to the gyre station. It should at least give me a head start.”

_Like hell I’m bringing you into Trollmarket_ , Jim nearly shot back, but then it occurred to him: the gyre station was connected to the _tunnels,_ and those had exits all over the place. He could get Strickler there without setting a foot inside Trollmarket’s wards. It wasn’t too terrible a plan - except for the part where Jim would be in Angor Rot’s path right up until the second Strickler got _on_ the gyre and the hell away from Arcadia.

“Show me the stone first,” Jim said.

Strickler pressed his palms together. “Thank you, thank you--”

“I haven’t agreed just yet,” Jim told him. “Now, the stone.”

Strickler reached into his jacket. Suddenly, Jim was grateful that the armor was only a heartbeat away: it occurred to him that for all he knew, Strickler could be pulling out a knife.

But Strickler didn’t pull out a knife: instead he pulled out and presented what was doubtlessly a troll-cut stone. Whether it really was the Eye - well, the only way to test that was to put it into the amulet and see what would happen. But Jim didn’t doubt that Strickler was, indeed, up to stealing a precious relic from his own people if he thought it might save his skin.

Dammit, but Jim couldn’t pass up on this chance.

“Fine,” he said. “Now, get inside. You said it yourself,” he added in response to the confusion on Strickler’s face, “he’ll tear through me like tissue paper. Backup will be here shortly.”

“And your mother…?”

“At work,” Jim replied shortly. “Now come on.”

_Backup_ was Draal. Jim had come a long way since Draal had first moved into his basement - plus he was no longer exiled from Trollmarket - but Draal still spent most nights camped out at the Lake house. Some nights, that was the only reason Jim managed to sleep at all.

So Jim made tea, very deliberately did not offer Strickler any, and marched the two of them down to the basement to wait on Draal.

“What’s _it_ doing here?” were Draal’s first words, before he was even out of the tunnel.

“Giving you the Eye of Gunmar,” Strickler sneered.

“ _If_ we get him to the gyre station,” Jim added. “So that he _maybe_ has a shot in hell of fleeing Angor Rot.”

Draal’s expression made it very clear what he thought about Strickler’s chances. All he said, though, was: “Show me the stone.”

Irritably, Strickler produced the stone again. “Satisfied?” he demanded.

Draal spent a long moment examining the stone before he grudgingly allowed: “The station _is_ outside the wards.”

“So technically we won’t be bringing him into Trollmarket,” Jim agreed.

Draal grunted, and said: “We should leave. We’re wasting time.” He turned to the tunnel, then glanced back at Strickler and Jim. “You, transform,” he told Strickler. “If Angor Rot catches up with us, I don’t want to have to go through all these human clothes to get the Eye off your body.”

Strickler looked livid. Before he could say anything though, Jim said, as businesslike as he could: “Plus you’ll have a better fighting chance.”

“Fine,” Strickler bit out. In a flash of light, he transformed into his troll form. “Now can we leave?”

Draal just started walking.

Strickler glanced once at Jim, then followed.

“For the glory of Merlin, Daylight is mine to command,” Jim said, sent his sword away so that Angor couldn’t grab it if he caught up with them, and brought up the rear.

 

* * *

 

The trick to hunting game that ran was to not try and outrun it. The faster an animal ran, the faster it tired. A good hunter knew to pursue only just fast enough to keep one’s sight on one’s game. That was why Angor mostly let Strickler be during the day, and only resumed hunting as dusk approached. The changeling was stupidly attached to his human guise; odds were he’d stick to it and spend the day running around and exhausting himself whether or not Angor did the same.

He hadn’t expected him to go and recruit himself _allies_ , though. It was a curious question, how Strickler got the Trollhunter to help him or, indeed, what help he even expected from the child. There was also the matter of the troll into whom Angor had not run before, and who seemed to know his way around the tunnels.

Idle curiosities, those; Angor didn’t need them satisfied to track his prey.

As Angor followed them, he began to realize where they were headed: to the unreachable perimeter under the town that marked Trollmarket’s boundaries. Interesting that they chose the tunnels, though; was there a back door? Is that where they were headed? And what help did a _changeling_ expect to find among trolls - and trolls who were enemies to Gunmar, no less?

A better question: what did the changeling offer, that was so valuable?

Words wafted in the darkness; the changeling’s voice, asking, “How much farther to the gyre?” then the unknown troll responding, “Keep quiet!”

Angor barely registered those last two words. He was too focused on what the changeling said, the answer to one of Angor’s questions: where the small group was headed to.

_The gyre._ Once that wouldn’t have been a problem - Angor would’ve summoned a portal and followed his prey wherever they went. Now, though, Strickler taking the gyre would be a serious setback. The time for patient tracking was over; it was time to give chase.

 

* * *

 

“How much farther to the gyre?” Strickler demanded.

Jim and Draal exchanged a look, then Draal hissed: “Keep quiet!”

The expression on Strickler’s face was priceless. He opened his mouth, no doubt to say something else obnoxious, but then the noise started: like rocks falling, except rhythmic.

“Is that…?” Jim asked.

“A troll running,” Draal confirmed. “Run!”

Angor Rot had found them. All three of them bolted, Jim struggling to keep up with the two trolls.

“How far are we again?” Strickler asked.

“It’s just around the corner!” came Draal’s reply.

“I’m still not dying for you!” Jim told Strickler.

The tunnel bent. On the other side of the bend, the gyre station loomed into view.

“Here!” Strickler tossed the Eye at Jim, who caught it one-handed.

There was nowhere in the armor to stash it though. After a split-second’s hesitation Jim sent the armor away and stashed the Eye in his pocket _just_ before the armor - stubborn piece of magic that it was - materialized again. It was a good thing that the armor did that so quickly: otherwise, Angor Rot’s knife would have gone straight into Jim’s chest instead of hitting metal and skittering to the side.

Angor Rot let out a scream, a blood-curdling sound that no living creature should have been able to produce. The reason for that became evident a split-second later, as light and a loud whirring sound filled the tunnel: Strickler had made it to the gyre and was revving it up.

Because of course - Jim realized - Strickler hadn’t tossed him the Eye out of a sense of _fairness_. Rather it was to distract Angor Rot long enough to allow Strickler to get to the gyre. Strickler was about to get away and leave Draal and Jim alone with the unhinged, murderous troll who wanted to kill _him_ \- but would as soon take out his frustration on them.

The moment of distraction cost Jim: Angor Rot barreled into him and sent him flying until he hit the wall of the tunnel and fell down to its floor. Jim struggled to get up; everything hurt and his head was spinning. He could only hope that he hadn’t broken or cracked anything. He _had_ to get up; Angor Rot was running at him, a poisoned dagger in each hand, and Jim had no time--

Draal threw himself at Angor Rot. The two trolls were moving too quickly for Jim to make sense of their fight as he finished struggling to his feet. He summoned his thigh blades and started running towards the two trolls. He had to help Draal.

Two things happened at once: the gyre zoomed down the tunnel in the opposite direction to them, and Draal cried out. With the gyre gone the tunnel was plunged back into darkness and Jim blinked, trying to force his eyes to adjust faster. When he could see again, Angor Rot was sprinting after the gyre as if he could hope to catch up with it, and Draal--

Draal had turned into stone.

Jim didn’t even register getting there; the sight of his hand, raised up to touch, was like seeing someone else’s hand rather than his own; only when he touched Draal and found nothing more than inert stone did it become real to him that Draal was gone, Draal was dead; Draal had been killed fighting Jim’s battle for him, just like Kanjigar had warned him would happen, months before.

Draal was dead.

Jim fell down to his knees, and wept.


	2. Chapter 2

They were working in the library - Blinky researching, AAARRRGGHH!!! smashing scorch beetles - when Master Jim came in.

“Master Jim!” Blinky beamed. “Isn’t this a bit of a late hour for y--” Then he noticed what should’ve been obvious to him from the second that he saw Master Jim: he looked terrible. Blinky put away the book he was reading and started in Master Jim’s direction. “Are you all right? No, never mind that.” Blinky put his two upper hands over Master Jim’s arms. “What happened?”

Some emotion twisted across Master Jim’s face at Blinky’s first question. He wasn’t good enough at reading human expressions to pin that emotion down but it was bitter, whatever it was, and Blinky did not like it in the slightest.

Something was _terribly_ wrong.

“Well,” Master Jim said; his voice sounded rough. Like Master Jim’s expression, the emotion his voice carried was all wrong as well. “The good news is, I have the third stone. I tested it, it works.”

This piece of news was in such stark contrast to all the other signals Master Jim was sending up that Blinky found himself stunned silent.

“That’s good, right?” AAARRRGGHH!!! asked; he’d come in from the other room while Blinky wasn’t paying attention.

For some reason, Master Jim shook his head. “The bad news is--” His throat worked. “The bad news--” He took a deep breath. “I did something really stupid, Blinky.”

Master Jim’s opinion of himself was not always the best, or the most accurate. “Did Gunmar escape?” Blinky asked, casting his voice as softly as he could.

“ _No,_ ” Master Jim said vehemently.

“Than whatever it is can’t be that bad,” Blinky replied; he was trying for ‘firm but gentle’. “Out with it, Master Jim.”

“I took Strickler to the gyre station. That’s how I got the stone; he had it, and he promised to hand it over if I took him there. So I - we - did.”

“Well I can see why you’d consider that decision to be doubtful but nevertheless, it paid off,” Blinky said, then paused. Something was bugging him: Master Jim had difficulty saying the word _we_ , and his voice shook as he said it.

AAARRRGGHH!!! verbalized the question for the both of them. “Who’s ‘we’?”

Master Jim swallowed hard, then said: “Draal. Draal and me.”

Suddenly, Blinky knew what the emotion was that had crossed Master Jim’s face earlier. He knew which way the conversation was going, what the bad news really was, though he wasn’t sure how that had happened. No, forget that; he knew exactly what had happened. “Angor Rot caught up with you,” he said. He tried to keep his voice gentle still, but didn’t have much success; the best he managed was keep it even. “Master Jim - where’s Draal?”

“At the gyre station - I couldn’t…” He swallowed. “Blinky, Draal’s…” He took a deep breath and tried again, but it seemed that his throat seized up on him.

AAARRRGGHH!!! shuffled over to where the two of them stood. “Draal dead,” he said. “Angor Rot.” He lifted his dead arm slightly to clarify what he meant: that Angor Rot was the cause of Draal’s death, and how.

Tears welled up in Master Jim’s eyes then spilled down his face. “I should have never…”

“Master Jim,” Blinky said, gently but firmly. “This is not your fault. Angor Rot killed Draal, not you.”

“War,” AAARRRGGHH!!! added.

“What AAARRRGGHH!!! means is,” Blinky said, seeing the utter lack of comprehension on Master Jim’s face, “that in war, people inevitably die. Draal knew the risks, Master Jim. You did not lead him to an end he was unwilling to meet. Quite the opposite; Draal, more than anyone, understood the risks.”

“He’s still dead, Blinky. He’s still dead and I…” He pressed his face against Blinky’s torso and held on tight, his tears coming like the gusts of a storm.

“Hrn,” AAARRRGGHH!!! vocalized, then left the library - most likely, to find Draal’s body and bring it back before someone else found it and an entire furor began.

Blinky put all four of his arms around Master Jim’s soft human body, and prepared to wait down a storm.

 

* * *

 

Jim wasn’t home.

Or at least, Toby was pretty sure that Jim wasn’t home. He’d been standing outside the Lake house for at least fifteen minutes, his helmet on and holding the handlebars of his bike. In that time, not even a squirrel stirred in the yard, and there certainly was no movement _inside_ the house. Best Toby could tell, neither Lake was in the house. Well - Dr. L could be in her bed, sleeping; Toby did not have a line of sight into her bedroom. But if Jim was in _his_ room then he had to be under the bed or in the closet, because Toby’s room had excellent view into Jim’s, and he hadn’t seen him. What more, Jim’s bed was _made_ : either he hadn’t slept in his bed the previous night or he’d gotten up _way_ early. That was possible, but Toby didn’t think it likely: Jim was pulling triple shifts every day of the week - what with school, Trollhunter duties and his self-imposed homemaker duties - and with Dr. L having had a Friday night shift, Saturday morning was Jim’s chance to sleep in for a bit, _particularly_ as they had the Spring Fling to look forward to that night. No, Toby was certain: Jim wasn’t home.

Toby didn’t like that. He didn’t like that even one tiny bit. Sure, it was possible that some Trollhunter business had kept Jim at Trollmarket the night before. If that was the case, though, then Toby was going to give his best friend an earful for not calling in an assist: anything that could keep Jim in Trollmarket overnight was something that Jim didn’t need to do on his own. Toby thought they got over that particular piece of bullshit months before. Then again, that was Toby’s preferred alternative. Because if the reason Jim wasn’t home _wasn’t_ that something had come up in Trollmarket the previous night, then Toby had no idea where Jim was and why his phone was going straight to voicemail.

As Toby was standing on the sidewalk, contemplating what to do, he heard the sounds of an approaching bike, faint yet clearly audible in the quiet street. He looked up: that was Claire pedalling down the street.

She stopped her bike next to Toby’s. She put one foot down, but she didn’t get off her bike. “Still nothing?” she asked.

“Nope,” Toby replied. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Let’s go kick his ass.”

Toby got on his bike and started pedalling frantically, trying to catch up with Claire. She was as quick as Jim was despite having shorter legs, and unlike Jim, she didn’t accommodate Toby’s natural pace at _all._

“And what if he _isn’t_ in Trollmarket?” he called after Claire when he had the air to spare.

“What do you mean, what if he isn’t in Trollmarket?” she called back. “Where else would he be?”

“Then _why_ is he--” Toby ran out of air again.

Claire understood what he wanted to say anyway. “He probably just ran out of battery,” she called out.

Well, that _was_ possible, but Toby didn’t think that likely. Running out of battery was something that happened to people who weren’t Jim Lake Jr., who could upkeep a house and cook full meals while keeping up with a full course load _and_ Trollhunting. Jim was too meticulous, too used to planning things out in advance. And even if Jim _had_ run out of battery, it was unlike him to not use the last bar to text a quick note to people he’d knew would worry. If there was one thing Jim hated, it was worrying or otherwise inconveniencing - was that even a word? - other people. Toby found that he was angry at Claire for not getting that about him.

But if Jim _hadn’t_ crashed in the back of Blinky’s library, if he _hadn’t_ run out of battery or closed his phone and forgot about it - if these things hadn’t happen, then what _had?_

“Nothing good,” Toby said under his breath. “Nothing good at all.”

 

* * *

 

Blinky didn’t realize they had visitors until the high-pitched shriek pierced the air. When he looked up he saw Claire and Tobias, wearing twin stricken expressions. The hardened shells they fastened to their heads to ride their bicycles lay on the floor at the two humans’ feet, still rocking slightly; Blinky must’ve missed the _clunk!_ of them dropping under the high-pitched sound that - he was fairly certain - came from Claire.

Blinky knew _exactly_ what caused this reaction of shock and dismay: Draal’s dead body was positioned behind his back and somewhat to the side, yet still in plain view of the doorway where the two children stood.

Blinky moved away from the desk. “I’m sorry you found out this way,” he said as he approached them. “That shouldn’t have happened.”

“What _happened?_ ” Claire asked. “When…?”

“Last night, and Angor Rot, in inverse order,” Blinky replied. “Master Jim didn’t…” _tell you?_ he meant to ask, but even as he spoke it occurred to him that that was the wrong question to ask. “Where is Master Jim?” he asked instead.

“We thought he was here,” Claire replied blankly.

Tobias visibly shook himself from his shock. “Oh man, _that’s_ why he’s not answering his phone,” he said. “He’s blaming himself, isn’t he.”

To the best of Blinky’s understanding, deliberately failing to answer one’s phone was a significant social offense among humans - the sort of a behavior that, ordinarily, Master Jim would tie himself into knots rather than commit. That, together with what Claire had said… “You don’t know where he is?”

“He’s not at home and his phone is going straight to voicemail,” Tobias said, “so no, we don’t.”

“You’re sure he’s not here?” Claire asked.

“He left here last night,” Blinky replied, “or possibly I should say ‘this morning’; it was only a few hours before sunrise.”

“Why’d you let him go?” Toby demanded. “Was he even fit to drive?”

“Doubtfully, but he insisted; he said he had to make it home, or his mother would worry.”

“Dr. L was _still_ not home when we left for here,” Tobias said, anger rising in his voice. “Jim would’ve known _exactly_ when her shift would end.”

“He lied to Blinky?” Claire said. “But why? Where would he go?”

“Maybe he _is_ home, just, like, in the basement or something,” Tobias said. “That’s where Draal lived for a while, maybe he…”

“If you’re talking about the Trollhunter,” said a new voice, “then I believe he is somewhere else entirely.”

Blinky startled; the two children positively jumped. Vendel was coming up the path that led to Blinky’s cave set.

“Why would _you_ know where Jimbo is?” Tobias demanded.

Vender ignored him, and addressed Blinky instead. “Whatever misadventure took place last night, I dare hope that the third triumbric stone was, somehow, retrieved?”

“Yes,” Blinky replied blankly. His mind was spinning, trying to work out how Vendel had figured that out, and why he phrased his inquiry in the language of _hope_. That implied that the Eye was somehow in need, but the only thing the Eye was necessary for was--

Blinky’s heart did not sink, so much as it dropped and shattered.

“Blinky? What’s wrong?” Claire asked.

“Come along,” Vendel said, and turned around. “I’ll show you.”

 

* * *

 

Claire recognized immediately the path the Vendel led them to, though she’d only walked it once. “Why are you taking us to the vault?” she asked. Her voice trembled. She wasn’t even sure why; _the vault_ held a terror to her now, the source of which her thoughts danced around but refused to touch.

Vendel turned his head to look at her. “If you figured out that much, you can figure out the rest of it,” he said.

“What sort of an answer is that?” Claire demanded then, when Vendel didn’t reply, looked up at Blinky.

Blinky merely shook his head. His expression was somber but then, it had been so since the library - since, she assumed, he found out that Draal was dead.

Toby stopped in place, then nearly stumbled when he resumed walking. “He _didn’t_ ,” he said. His voice and expression were flat with shock.

“He did, indeed,” Vendel replied.

“He did _what?_ ” Claire demanded.

“Oh, come on,” Toby snapped, suddenly livid. “ _You’re_ the one who made him promise to do it!”

“What do you mean, I’m…” Her own anger disappeared as soon as it appeared, replaced by a fresh, sheer terror as her mind finally zeroed in on what _Jim_ and _the vault_ summed up to. “He went to the _Darklands? Alone?_ ”

“He did,” Vendel replied.

“How did you find out?” Blinky asked. His voice was uncharacteristically reserved, dull almost.

“He left the door to the vault open,” Vendel replied, “which, I think, he did deliberately so that we’d figure it out sooner. I gather from your collective response that he left no other indication of his intentions.”

“He didn’t.” Toby still sounded angry.

“We were supposed to go together,” Claire said. She hated how her voice sounded, betraying the tears that stung her eyes. Her hands were shaking, too: Jim had gone to the Darklands, on his own.

Vendel said: “Evidently, he changed his mind.”

The vault’s open door loomed into view.

“It’s open?” Blinky asked.

“It’s under guard,” Vendel replied. “Otherwise, I left it as I found it.”

It wasn’t long before they could see not just the open door and the two bulky trolls standing guard outside it, but the eerie glow coming from within. Inside, they found exactly what Vendel implied they would: the Killahead bridge, fully erect, and the Daylight Amulet embedded at its top, shining clear and bright.

Lying on the floor, not far from the swirling portal, was Jim’s cell phone.

Toby cried out and ran towards it. Claire forced herself to follow at a more sedate pace; no matter her feelings for Jim, Toby had known him for much longer - no matter that Jim seemed to be the only friend Toby had at all. It wasn’t just a matter of being considerate of Toby’s feelings, either: if Jim had left any message on his phone, or any clue at all, Toby would find it the fastest.

Indeed, after a few moments, Toby said triumphantly: “Found it!” Then his expression crumpled.

Gently, Claire liberated the phone from Toby’s lax fingers. On the screen, the email app was open, showing a draft message that Jim had saved but not sent. It was only eight words long.

_No one else will die because of me._

A sob escaped Claire’s throat. She was angry - so, so angry - with Jim for being so _stupid_ as to go on his own into the stark danger of the Darklands, but in that moment it hit her how utterly alone Jim must have felt in the little hours of the morning, while she and Toby slept in peaceful ignorance and Blinky had assumed Jim had left Trollmarket. Jim must’ve seen Draal die; she couldn’t imagine what that must’ve been like - for anyone, and specifically for Jim, who only ever wanted to take care of people. To him, it must’ve been--

Blindly she handed the phone back to Toby. She kept blinking but it felt as if a deluge was welling up from her eyes; she couldn’t see a thing. When two hands gently placed themselves on her shoulder and her waist, she recognized them by touch alone: Blinky’s. She let him pull her in, and found Toby on her other side: Blinky pulled her in with his left arms and Toby with his right. It occurred to her that Toby, too, was crying, in loud ugly sobs that made her whimpers seem polite in comparison. Perversely, it made her feel a little better - but not enough to slow her tears down any.

Draal was dead, Jim was gone to the Darklands, and Claire wished she’d never known it was possible to feel this utterly, completely helpless.

 

* * *

 

In the first week, Toby and Claire didn’t even have the time to worry; they were too busy keeping up with Jim’s duties on top of their own. Blinky, on the other hand, worried enough for three or four people, if not more. AAARRRGGHH!!!, at least, had something to do with his worry: make sure that Blinky remembered to eat.

In the second week, Claire’s grades began to drop; her parents suggested she break up with Jim. During the four-day fight that ensued Claire spent a night at Trollmarket, which served to divert Blinky’s worry. That freed up enough of AAARRRGGHH!!!’s attention to realize that Toby, too, was foregoing food.

And in the third week, Enrique made it home, but Jim only almost.

 

* * *

 

He was fighting. That was the last clear thing that Draal remembered. He was fighting, and his opponent was dangerous and conniving. Someone approached him, and Draal swatted them back without thought. He wasn’t sure why everything was so muddled but given what he _did_ remember, he was certain that his opponent had something to do with that. Draal located another target and prepared to strike but instead he was jumped by someone bigger and heavier than him. That was wrong; the opponent Draal’s body remembered was shaped differently, tall and lean, and he was alone. Never mind that; Draal could still fight, and fight he did.

“AAARRRGGHH!!, no! Let him go!”

“Draal dangerous!”

“Draal was fighting when he died so let’s just give him some space, okay? Back me up here, guys.”

“I believe Claire is correct.”

The voices were familiar; the voices were important. Draal knew that, but it was difficult to think.

The large troll holding him down jumped off and Draal stepped back, putting distance between himself and his assailant. Something was wrong, he knew that: except for the one who held him down, his opponents were too small, too…

Human. Two of them were human. The realization chased the fog away, and Draal’s surroundings came into focus. He was at Hero’s Forge, and standing before him were AAARRRGGHH!!!, Blinky, Claire and Toby. AAARRRGGHH!!! and Toby were looking wary while Blinky and Claire looked concerned - which made sense, Draal realized, as he’d just _attacked them._ Then again--

“Where’s Angor Rot?” Draal demanded. “Where’s Jim?”

Everyone’s expressions cleared.

“You’re back!” Claire cried out and, for some reason, flung herself at him to embrace him.

Blinky followed at a more sedate pace, Toby by his side. “It’s been three weeks since your fight with Angor Rot,” he explained. “We’ve seen neither hide nor hair of him or of Strickler since.”

That answered one question, and raised another. “What happened?”

“He got you with Creeper’s Sun,” Claire said. “But we got the antidote from the Janus Order and--”

Toby interrupted her. “Do you know how to save Jim? The amulet said you’d know how to save Jim.”

Draal stared at the hopeful expressions both humans were wearing, then turned to Blinky for explanations.

“In the wake of your death, Jim went into the Darklands on his own,” Blinky explained. “The Killahead bridge was torn down three days ago. The amulet attached itself to you--” Blinky gestured with his hands and Draal looked down to - indeed - find the amulet attached to his chest “-- and proclaimed that you are the key to the hunter. We all assumed…”

Blinky was interrupted by the groaning of stone on stone: the soothscryer rose from the center of the Forge.

Draal stared at it in disbelief. To one who didn’t know better, that could look like an invitation. But Draal did know better; the soothscryer was for the Trollhunter alone. Again he looked to Blinky, the only one present who knew at least as much Trollhunter lore as Draal did.

Blinky said: “The amulet and the fate that guides it have called to you. To what purpose, only you can discover.”

The purpose, Draal thought, was clear: the amulet had apparently claimed that he, Draal, was key to _something_ having to do with the Trollhunter. What exactly that was remained to be discovered, but at least Draal could be reasonably certain he wouldn’t be losing his _second_ hand.

He walked over to the soothscryer and put his left hand into the glowing hole before he could shame himself with hesitation.

He was blinded by light. When it disappeared, the Forge around him was different, made not of stone but of light and solid darkness. The others were nowhere to be seen. Draal’s breath caught: he was in the Void, the sacred space between worlds that was for Trollhunters alone. He gazed upon it with reverence and amazement. How was this even possible? He had no idea.

“You are the first outsider since time began to see our secret realm,” said a familiar voice behind his back.

Of _course._ Draal had been so overwhelmed by the marvel of being in the _Void_ , that it didn’t occur to him what an opportunity that was, that he was in the place where the spirits of Trollhunters past resided.

Draal turned, and saw his father.

Kanjigar smiled. “Welcome, my son.”

Draal didn’t think twice, or even once: he threw himself forward to hug his father. It was impulsive and rash, traits that his father did not approve of; yet, in that moment, Draal could do nothing else. He could sense his father’s startled surprise, yet he didn’t withdraw. This was so great a gift that he couldn’t be worthy of it no matter what he did or did not do; he might as well enjoy it to the fullest.

He couldn’t believe it when, a few seconds later, his father hesitantly put his arms around him in return.

“How is this possible?” Draal asked when they broke apart.

“You walked the line between life and death. That makes you singularly capable of rendering what help I need to assist you in saving James Lake Jr. I have not the time to explain; things are dire.”

So the others’ interpretation _was_ correct: there was a way of rescuing Jim from the Darklands, and Draal was somehow instrumental. There was only one honourable answer. “Whatever it takes.”

“Very well,” his father replied, and stepped forward.

 

* * *

 

“Wait, Draal is alive?”

Jim’s face lit up and, paradoxically, Toby’s stomach dropped. Perhaps it was because Jim hadn’t lit up this way at the sight of Claire and him; perhaps it was because the emotion with which Jim shone was too feral, too primeval to be called either _hope_ or _joy_ . Either way, it was like being hit in the face with the impact the past three weeks - starting with that disastrous fight at the gyre - had had on Jim. It reminded Toby of something Blinky had said to Jim months before, in the very beginning: _One hit_ , Blinky had told Jim, _one hit and you’d be changed forever._

 _Changed forever_ wasn’t always a good thing.

Toby didn’t have time to dwell on that, though, because at that moment the guards returned; then he and Claire got themselves accidentally locked in the cell next to Jim’s and had to figure their way out - and then to wherever Jim was. The feeling, like lead in his stomach, returned to haunt him as they escaped from the arena and he and Claire had a hushed discussion about needing to abandon Nomura. _You want to be the one to tell her that?_ Claire asked, and Toby didn’t reply, not because Claire had a point but rather because that wasn’t it at all: telling the scary changeling lady who was helping them that they were supposed to leave her behind _wasn’t_ the reason that Toby was dawdling, and Toby didn’t have the air - or the time - to waste on explaining that.

It came to him a while later, standing on top of a cliff, watching as AAARRRGGHH!!! put down on the ground a struggling Jim who was fighting tooth and nail to get back to Nomura, who’d just fallen down to a certain and ugly death. That was the moment when Toby realized: the reason he couldn’t bring himself to do as Kanjigar had ordered, to put his foot down and kick Nomura out from their group, was _precisely_ because he was there to save Jim. Kanjigar must’ve somehow known that Toby was - or could be - the most pragmatic in their little group; the others were all too idealistic but Toby, Toby could be _ruthless_ if it was for Jim. But as he watched AAARRRGGHH!!! block Jim’s path and Jim’s furious frustration with that, Toby understood: by leaving Nomura behind they’d be leaving a part of Jim behind, too, a part that must’ve sustained him these past three weeks. A part that - Toby realized with a sinking feeling - Jim might not be _Jim_ without.

And yet, they had no choice but to leave Nomura behind.

Until Draal came, and brought the gyre.

 

* * *

 

They took the gyre back to Trollmarket; it was the quickest way to get out of the dawning sunlight. The three humans opted to walk back to Arcadia, instead. Once that would’ve seemed strange to Blinky but, after a month spent as a human, he understood: the soft light and fragrant air of sunrise were quite a lure, particularly to one who’d spent the last three weeks in the cavernous Darklands. Even trolls found the empty Darklands skies oppressive; Blinky could only imagine what that would do to a human. All in all, it was remarkable that Master Jim returned to them in as good a state as he had.

The ride back to Trollmarket was short, too short to prepare Draal for what they had waiting for them upon their return: Vendel, accompanied by Ursuna and her entourage.

Even she, it turned out, was stunned speechless by the sight of Draal, alive and well. Vendel, who’d already seen them at the Forge the night before, merely shook his head.

“What dark powers have you meddled with, Blinkous?” he asked.

Blinky stuck out his chin. “To every poison there is an antidote,” he said. “Kanjigar said that we needed to find the one to Creeper’s Sun, therefore we did.”

“Kanjigar is dead,” said Ursuna.

“That he is,” Blinky agreed. “But that does not stop his ghost from acting through the amulet.”

“Or through other means,” Vendel said. He turned to Draal. “I did not imagine you summoning the sword Daylight at the Forge, did I?”

Draal, too, stood proud and strong. “That was my father, not I,” he said.

“I find it difficult to believe that the great Kanjigar would run like a coward--” Ursuna began.

Draal stepped forward. AAARRRGGHH!!! put a hand on his shoulder, and pulled him back.

“Time was of the essence,” Blinky said. “Master Jim’s life was in danger.”

“And where is the Trollhunter now?” Vendel asked.

“Enjoying the sunrise after his ordeal in the Darklands,” Blinky shot back. “And then, I dare hope, he will enjoy a good shower. He will return here tomorrow, at the usual time.”

“I will believe it when I see it,” Ursuna said acidly. “Do you expect me to believe he crawled back here through a fetch?”

Blinky and AAARRRGGHH!!! exchanged looks. There was nothing to do about it - they had to come clean about what Claire and NotEnrique had achieved.

“No,” Blinky said, “we expect you to believe that Claire Nuñez has successfully portaled the Killahead bridge off of the shipping container you attempted to drown it in. I will take you there myself after dusk.”

“I will believe it when I see it,” Ursuna said, acid still, “and the same of the return of your human Trollhunter. And even if you speak the truth then you have, indeed, meddled with dark powers. The tribunal will have to discuss the matter.”

Blinky made a perfunctory bow. “And we will abide by the tribunal’s judgment.”

It only took AAARRRGGHH!!! and Draal a second to follow his example and bow as well.

Ursuna turned on her heel and left, her entourage in tow. Vendel remained, leaning on his new staff.

“Was it worth it, Blinkous?” he asked.

Blinky turned to pointedly look at Draal, then at AAARRRGGHH!!! and his now-healed arm that was no longer killing him slowly, before he turned back to Vendel and said: “Absolutely.”

Vendel sighed. “Very well, then,” he said, then turned and left the three of them alone.

“What else did I miss?” Draal asked.

“Lots,” AAARRRGGHH!!! said succinctly.

Blinky reached up to put a hand on Draal’s shoulder. “Let us catch you up.”

 

* * *

 

Jim spent his first day dozing in bed. He’d slept lightly and poorly in the Darklands, and the softness of a mattress and a pillow was a wonderful re-discovery. He was so tired that he’d slept soundly through the night, too. The second day had started off like a dream, school and Steve and all - right up until AAARRRGGHH!!! sniffed the goblin poo in the dumpster, and proclaimed it to be of blood goblins.

Did the goblin tell the truth? Had Gunmar escaped? Jim managed to put that out of his mind on the stroll back to Trollmarket, the debrief, then the entire ride back home. Then, he found himself lying awake in bed and itching to get Toby on the radio and tell him about that. He knew what Toby would say, though: that Jim was an idiot for believing a goblin, that goblins were evil little shits and that the goblin had probably lied with the full intent of causing Jim maximum distress. That was assuming Toby would even believe a goblin could understand English.

Toby hadn’t believed that a goblin had kidnapped Enrique, either.

And if Gunmar had escaped… Well, Jim might not live to fight Gunmar and lose, because the tribunal just might have him executed as soon as they found out. It wasn’t a comforting thought. Jim had accepted that he’d die fighting when he accepted that he couldn’t throw the amulet away: Blinky had been upfront about how Trollhunting usually went. Jim had already survived longer than he’d thought possible.

If Gunmar had escaped, it didn’t matter whether he’d kill Jim or whether the tribunal would; Jim would have already failed on the one job that mattered - keeping people safe. Because if Gunmar had escaped then a war was coming and if there was one thing that Jim had learned in history class it was that wars killed people. Lots of people.

_No one else will die because of me._

Jim turned on his stomach, pulled the pillow over his head, and wished for sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Since I know y'all probably want to kill me right now: a sequel is already in the works!


End file.
